


A Good Feeling

by ThirdGenerationRockette



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Apartment hunting, F/M, Fluff, Post S2, Smut, pre S3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 09:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13737864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirdGenerationRockette/pseuds/ThirdGenerationRockette
Summary: Apartment number three starts well, Mackenzie squeezes his hand as they walk into the foyer and he smiles, agreeing with her initial assessment of the place. The realtor babbles her way through the entire elevator ride, probably seeing her potential sale slipping away based on their reactions to the first two apartments, and he finds himself holding his breath as she unlocks the door and lets them inside.





	A Good Feeling

It's the feel of her foot pushing between his legs that pulls him into a vague state of wakefulness, but it takes the gentle weight of her head on his chest and her hand sliding under his t-shirt to rouse him completely. It's been almost six weeks since they got engaged, five weeks to the day since she moved in, and waking up with her every morning is still the best feeling, one he's never going to tire of. He runs his hand slowly down her back, his fingers settling just under the waistband of her pyjama pants, his thumb moving across her warm, soft skin.

"I have a good feeling about today." She murmurs against him and he can hear the smile in her voice.

"You do?" He hopes she's right, they've looked at what feels like a thousand apartments but none have been quite right and he's starting to wonder if there's a single available apartment in the whole of Manhattan that will be the one for them.

"Mmm-hmm," she says, shifting slightly so she's draped almost completely over him, her foot trailing down his shin as she looks up at him, her eyes bleary as she bites her lip.

"Glad to hear it." He pushes her hair gently off her forehead and smiles at her (holy shit, she's beautiful), giving silent thanks that it's Saturday and their first appointment with the realtor isn't an early one. "I was starting to think we might run out of places to see."

"We've only seen twelve apartments, Billy," she says, returning his smile and moving her hand higher under his t-shirt, stroking her fingertips across his skin. "The average person looks at between ten and fifteen places before they find the one they want to buy."

"If that's true, I'd be okay with us being below average just this one time." He grins and she leans up to kiss him, her fingers pushing into his hair as her tongue slides softly against his.

He pulls his hand out of her pants and moves it slowly up her back, feeling every bump of her spine, settling his fingers on her neck, sliding them into her hair and gently massaging the base of her skull. She pulls her mouth from his and her lips curve into a satisfied smile, her eyes locking onto his.

"Mmm, that's nice." She sighs and drags her fingernails lightly across his stomach. "How many apartments did you look at before you bought this place?"

"I didn't look at any." He keeps combing his fingers through her hair, the relaxed smile on her face suggesting he should continue.

"How did you get lucky with the first one _you_ saw but we're in double figures and can't find one we like?" Another sigh, this one more dramatic than the last. “And don't even think about saying it's because I'm too picky.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he says, holding back a smirk, but barely. “And anyway, I didn't see this one."

"What do you mean?" She frowns faintly and slides off him, pressing herself against his side as she looks at him.

"I saw pictures, and a floor plan, and just...well, said yeah, I guess, it looked fine." He shrugs and remembers how he really didn't care, he just took the accountant's advice when he said he should buy somewhere rather than renting, and instructed someone to find something decent.

"You put someone else in charge of finding you a home, and just let them get on with it?" Her eyes widen and she looks at him in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"I needed somewhere to live, my agent said said buying something would make more sense than renting, so yeah," he says, running a finger slowly down her cheek. "I just said fine, told him I wanted it to be in Manhattan and that he should let me know when he found something."

"You're talking about it like it's the same thing as finding a suit for a dinner," she says, reaching for him and smiling when he takes hold of her hand and slides his fingers into hers. "I mean, this is your _home_."

"It was somewhere to live, somewhere to hang my shit, that's all." He sees the frown creeping into her face, guesses instantly what she's thinking. "What we're looking for now, that's a home. There's a difference, honey, a _big_ difference."

"So the whole time you've lived here, it's never felt like home?" She looks genuinely sad, and he's not quite sure why.

"It's been feeling a lot more like home the last few weeks," he says, realising as he says it how true it is. "With your damn pillows, and your candles, and all the stuff that came with you, and mostly just...you."

"As lovely as it is to hear that, five weeks out of the last five years isn't exactly anything to shout about." She squeezes his fingers and smiles at him. "We're going to find somewhere today, I know we are, and it's going to feel like our home straight away, and we're going to spend the next sixty years there in pure bliss."

"I don't doubt it. Even if sixty years seems ambitious, for one of us, definitely." He smiles back, her enthusiasm infectious. "What about your place, did that feel like home?"

"That's different," she says, shaking her head and wrinkling her nose slightly. "It was never mine, I'm not sure anywhere really feels like home when it's just somewhere you pay rent, and you never know if you could be turfed out at any given moment. And I never thought for a second I'd be staying in New York forever. Hell, there were times when I never knew if I'd see out the month, or if I'd be headed back to DC, or London, or God knows where, really."

"Because I made things so fucking difficult," he says, knowing that's how it was even though he knows that's not what she's saying. "You came into work every Friday not knowing if you still had a job on Monday or if I was going to fire you."

"Well, it wasn't a Friday but you _did_ fire me. Eventually." She surprises him by letting out a soft laugh as she untangles their fingers and reaches up to rest her hand on his face. "And that night turned out pretty well for us, so don't go getting all mopey on me. What I was trying to say is that the only place that's ever felt like home is wherever I am with you, and I'm going to be with you for the rest of my life. _That's_ why I'm so focused on finding a place we both love."

"And you have a good feeling about today." He lifts her hand from his face and kisses her fingers, smiling at her as he does.

"I do," she says, her sweet smile as wide as he's ever seen it as she once again runs her foot up his shin, pushing her leg between his and looking at him with a hungry glint in her eyes. "You know what else I have a good feeling about?"

"What?" he asks, moving his hand to her hip and pulling her tighter against him.

"That we still have _hours_ before our first appointment." Her lips brush softly against his cheek before she rolls onto her back, pulling him with her and sighing gently.

"Oh yeah." He dips his head and kisses her cheek, her jaw, finding the spot on her neck that makes her squirm. "I have a good feeling about that too."

 

*

She hates the first apartment, frowning as soon as they walk in and telling him there's nowhere near enough light, the ceilings are too low, and starting to reel off a list of other faults so long he has to stop her halfway through to tell her it's fine, he agrees, they can move on to the next place. The next place fares no better but this time it's him, he hates it, from the building itself to the layout that's so wrong it would take more than even the renovation they're willing to embark on to make it right. Apartment number three starts well, Mackenzie squeezes his hand as they walk into the foyer and he smiles, agreeing with her initial assessment of the place. The realtor babbles her way through the entire elevator ride, probably seeing her potential sale slipping away based on their reactions to the first two apartments, and he finds himself holding his breath as she unlocks the door and lets them inside.

It's a spacious, open living room, and it's bright, which for a dull December afternoon is impressive. The first thing that strikes him are the windows, the big, wide windows with a view across Riverside Park that he thinks could clinch it for Mackenzie. He stays quiet, watching her as she looks around the living room, quiet concentration on her face and her eyes flitting from the windows up to the high ceilings and across to a fireplace which, with some work, could be the best feature in the room.

"This one actually has three bedrooms," the realtor says, smiling hopefully. "The third one isn't huge, but still, it's a third bedroom, or an office, or...well, whatever you need it to be, I guess."

He nods but says nothing, knowing Mackenzie will already be imagining it as a walk-in closet, assuming she actually likes the place, which, right now, she's giving no indication of at all. The realtor leads the way into the master bedroom and Mackenzie looks around for just a few seconds before she walks over to the window and he hears her sigh. Deciding he needs to know if this is yet another place she can't wait to run out of, he smiles at the realtor and steps over to where Mackenzie is standing, gazing out at the park, at the view he really hopes will sell it to her.

"The light in here is great, right? And a third bedroom would be a pretty sweet extra. What do you think?" He moves closer and his heart sinks when he sees obvious tears in her eyes. "Hon?"

She's not a crier, she's _really_ not a crier, so when there are tears it usually means something is horribly, often catastrophically wrong. Genoa springs to mind and he feels his stomach lurch at the memory, but then he remembers too that there were tears too the night they got engaged and they were definitely happy tears, although they were brought on by exhaustion and complete shock...fuck it, he has no clue what's going on here.

"Mac?" He closes the distance and takes her hand, pulling her to him, aware of the realtor hovering awkwardly in the doorway.

"I'll give you a minute," the realtor says, nodding and disappearing quickly from the room.

"Hey, come here." He lets go of her hand and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him, feeling her hand slide up his chest and come to rest over his heart. "Look, we can take a break from this for a while, we don't have to find anything right now. We can forget about it, get Christmas done with and start over in January. Who knows, a ton of new places might come available in the new year, right? It's fine, we can just tell Wendy we're putting things on hold for now, and-"

"No, it's not...no." She stops him and pulls back to look up at him, her eyes still bright with unshed tears, but a trace of a smile on her lips. "Wait, who the hell is Wendy?"

"The realtor," he says, shrugging and moving his hand down her back, running his fingers gently between her shoulder blades.

"Her name's _Judith_ ," she says, rolling her eyes as he wonders if there's a chance that she's the one who has it wrong before realising no, of course not.

"Eh, close enough." He shrugs again, not really giving a shit what the realtor's name is, not right now anyway. "We can tell Judith that we're going to take a break for Christmas, come back at it fresh in January, I'm sure she's-"

"No." She cuts him short again and presses herself against him as her smile grows wider. "I love it, Billy, it's perfect. I love the windows and the fireplace and the ceilings and the extra bedroom...all of it, I just... _love_ it."

"You love it?" he asks, pausing as it starts to sink in that this was another case of happy tears and that this may just mean they've found their new home. "So much that it made you cry?"

"I wasn't exactly _crying_ , I was just a little overwhelmed, that's all," she says, still smiling at him, seemingly unable to stop, which is totally fine with him. If she's happy, he's happy. "I don't think I expected to walk into a place and just know right away that it was where we should live, and that...oh God, we have to get this apartment, I mean, this is...we _have_ to live here."

"This is it, right? This is the one?" She nods and he smiles back at her, knowing without a doubt he'll do whatever he needs to do to make it happen. "Then it's ours, honey, it's a done deal."

 

*

He half expected this would happen, it's one of the many things he loves about her, that when she's in, she's _in_ , so the sight of her at the table, glasses on, pencil in hand, and floor plans spread out in front of her is no real surprise. She looks up as he walks in, pushing her glasses up from where they're slipping down her nose before taking the glass of champagne out of his hand and smiling at him.

"We have a new apartment," she says, putting the pencil down and beaming at him as he clinks their glasses together. "With three bedrooms, a fireplace and the most beautiful windows."

"We do." He smiles back and glances at the floor plans, raising an eyebrow. "One that you've single-handedly remodelled already in your head?"

"Not entirely." She smirks and he's pretty sure that's exactly what she's done. "Just trying to visualise what we might want to do with it. We're going to need to get some recommendations for a decorator too, and we should think about whether we want to move in and live there while we renovate or if it might be better to stay here, and then we-"

"All decisions we absolutely don't need to make tonight," he says, stopping her before she can go any further, reaching over and making his point by pushing the floor plans aside. "The only thing we need to decide tonight is what to do for dinner. Do you want to go out to celebrate?"

"Nope." She takes off her glasses, sets them down on the table, and reaches for him, running her index finger slowly down the back of his hand. "I want to stay _in_ to celebrate."

"Ah, that's a much better idea." He turns his hand over and slides his fingers into hers, squeezing gently and watching the slow smile move across her lips.

"Of course it is, you are marrying a genius, after all." She picks up her glass and takes a sip. "There's more of this, right?"

"Oh yeah, there's plenty more where that came from," he says, wondering what the hell he was thinking suggesting going out to celebrate when this is the alternative.

"Then let's move this party to the couch," she says, standing up and tugging on his hand until he gets to his feet.

"We're having a party now, are we?" He picks up his glass and watches as she does the same, smirking at him.

"Don't panic, anti-social Annie, it's a very small, very intimate party." She leads him by the hand towards the living room and his eyes move automatically to the sway of her hips, the perfectly snug fit of her jeans, the jeans he'll be peeling off pretty damn soon if he's reading her signals right.

"Sounds like my kind of party," he says, not bothering to take offence at her anti-social comment considering it's the truth.

When she bypasses the living room and keeps walking, her hand still in his, he doesn't question it, he figures she has a plan, thinks maybe she's decided to skip the couch and go right for the bed, which he would definitely have no objections to. But no, she diverts into the kitchen and over to the fridge, dropping his hand so she can open the door and take out the bottle of champagne he left in there just minutes ago.

"This is coming with us." She turns back to him, the bottle in one hand, her half empty glass in the other, and smiles up at him, her entire expression one of complete happiness.

He follows her to the couch, and there's a delicious glint her eyes as she puts the champagne bottle down onto the table and waits for him to sit, climbing into his lap when he does. Hell, if this is what happens when she finds the apartment of her dreams maybe he should suggest looking for a second house out at the beach.

“ _Did_ you think I was being too picky?” she asks, taking a sip from her glass and sitting back onto his thighs.

“You forget, I've seen you try to decide which shoes to wear in the morning,” he says, following her lead and taking a mouthful from his own glass. “From a selection of black pumps that all look identical.”

“I'm sorry?” Her eyebrows raise almost impossibly high and he can't resist a smirk. “You think my equally gorgeous yet very different shoes look the same?”

“I mean, I'm sure you can tell the difference...” He shrugs, enjoying the horrified expression on her face. “But yeah, as far as I can tell, they're all just black heels.”

“Right.” She nods slowly and lets out a long sigh. “I'm glad you told me this now. You know, before we got married, because this changes everything. I don't know if I can marry someone who doesn't know his Blahniks from his Choos.”

“Well, we had a good run, I guess.” He plays along, watching as a smirk creeps onto her lips. “It does seem a shame though to have a brand new apartment we'll never move in to...”

“It does, you're right,” she says, completely failing to hide her amusement. “Especially one with a third bedroom which would make a perfect home for my apparently identical shoes...”

“Oh, I get what this is.” He grins and slides his hand under her sweater, almost ending up covered in champagne when she reacts to his cold hand against her ribs. “This is all a huge ploy to get me to agree to the walk-in closet, right?”

“Please, did you really think there was a chance I wouldn't be winning that argument?” she asks, leaning forward and kissing the end of his nose before pulling away with a soft huff of laughter. “You're sweet in your moments of optimism, Billy,”

“So, if I say it's a done deal, the walk-in, what do you say we get this wedding back on?” He takes the glass out of her hand and reaches around her to put it down, along with his own, on the table.

“Well, stealing my drink isn't going to do you any favours,” she says, pausing when he pulls her closer to him, his hands still under her sweater, the cashmere soft against his fingers. “Unless you have other plans...”

She smiles and moves her hands to his shoulders, shifting slowly in his lap, pushing her hips forward until she's pressed so tightly against him that his groin reacts with predictable interest. He knows she knows exactly what she's doing and he's totally okay with that, he's never not going to want a lapful of playful Mackenzie, frankly.

“Oooh.” She moves again, leaning back slightly so she can reach for his belt, and his breath catches as her fingers slide against his skin. “Is this for me, or is apartment hunting more of a turn- on than I realised?”

“What do you think?” It's all he can manage as she unzips his jeans and pushes her hand inside the denim.

“Big, wide...windows.” She smirks and he has to bite back a groan as she strokes his hardness through his shorts, her touch so light he wonders how the hell his reaction is quite as obvious as it is. “Solid, hard...floors. Warm, inviting...fireplace.”

“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” he asks, watching as she smirks, her eyes bright with amusement.

“And you're not?” She knows he is, the evidence is quite literally in her hand, the hand she has now slipped into his shorts and has wrapped around him as she gazes into his eyes.

“I think you know the answer to that,” he says, his head tilting back against the couch as her hand starts to move. “Oh, fuck...”

“Yes, please.” Her voice is barely a murmur, a low, throaty sound that combined with what her hand is doing sends a shiver down his spine. He feels himself hardening further under her touch and he reaches instinctively for her, his fingers moving higher up her back, under the band of her bra, his fingertips trailing across her shoulder blade. “Mmm, your hands are warming up, finally. Keep that up and I might consider taking my clothes off.”

“It does seem unfair that my hand can't make it into your pants right now, while yours is already doing such...” He looks at her, pausing as she tightens her grip as if to emphasise his point for him. “Good work.”

“You're right, it is unfair,” she says, her eyes fixed on his as she strokes him harder, purposefully. “Although the design of the male anatomy makes your...relevant parts much more easily accessible.”

“Well, I can neither take blame nor credit for that, but I sympathise,” he says, giving a vague shrug, a hint of a grin. “You know, if that helps?”

“Not in the slightest.” She bites her lip and pulls her hand slowly free of his shorts, somehow climbing out of his lap as quickly as she climbed into it, almost taking his hand with her before he manages to extract it from her sweater.

“What are you...” He stops as soon as it's clear what she's doing and he watches as she peels her sweater off, his hands beating hers to the buttons of her jeans, the slight fumbling of his fingers reminding him of his current state of arousal.

“You concentrate on your pants, and I'll concentrate on mine.” She pushes his hands away and takes a step back, grinning at him. “Or we're going to end up in no better a state than we were five minutes ago.”

“Do you want to...” He finishes his question by way of a gesture towards the hallway, the bedroom, but she shakes her head.

“No, I want to stay here, on the couch,” she says without hesitation, pointing at his crotch. “So get your jeans off so we can carry on. Clearly you're already ahead of me.”

“I can help you play catch up,” he says, standing and towering over her where she stands in her socks, and he cups her face, smiling as her eyes flutter shut for just a second.

“Oh, I expect you to.” She returns his smile and leans up to kiss him before pulling back and again reaching to unbutton her jeans. “It's not going to take much though, I'll be honest.”

“Windows?” He raises an eyebrow, watching, continuing as she nods, her teeth again capturing her bottom lip as she looks at him. “Floors, fireplaces...marble counter tops, rainfall shower heads- ”

“The shower's _your_ thing.” She stops him and his eyes drift down her thighs as she takes off her jeans and kicks them aside. “Keep going.”

“I'll keep going if you will,” he says, peeling his t-shirt off over his head before reaching for her and pulling her towards him, sliding his fingers under her panties and dragging them slowly to the floor.

“Walk-in closet,” she says, stepping out of her underwear and removing her bra, watching as he removes his jeans and shorts.

“I hadn't forgotten.” He moves towards her and pushes his fingers into her hair, wanting nothing more than to kiss her, hard and deep, his tongue chasing hers, playful and determined.

He feels her hands move to his waist, around to his lower back, her nails lightly scratching as he kisses her. She makes a soft noise of satisfaction as he moves a hand from her hair and trails it down her side, unable to resist bringing it to rest it on her ass, her ridiculously _great_ ass, and he slowly runs his thumb over her soft skin.

“Look at us,” she says, looking up at him with a mischievous smile. “Butt naked and about to do it in the living room.”

“This is an observation rather than a complaint, right?” He quirks an eyebrow and she grins. “Oh, absolutely.” She presses herself closer to him and he feels himself respond to her hard nipples against his chest, and the look in her eyes tells him she felt it too. “I doubt I need to remind you this is hardly the most adventurous place we've had sex. Or do I?”

“My office at CNN, your office at CNN...” He smirks, only now realising how she brought out a side to him he hadn't known existed (and apparently still does), not to mention how lucky they were that they were never caught. “An editing bay at CNN, a pool in Mexico, back of a limo...”

“A bathroom...” She pauses, a coy smile creeping across her lips. “At the White House. God, we probably could have been tried for treason for that one. Based on that list, I can't quite believe I moved in here five weeks ago and we've always made it to the bedroom until now.”

“If you're worried we're old and boring...” He quirks an eyebrow and slides his hand down between her legs, pleased when his fingers find she's already wet as he pushes gently against her warmth.

“I'm not.” She rests a hand on his shoulder, steadying herself as he starts to move his thumb in slow, firm circles through her wetness. “But...if that sentence was going to end with a suggestion that we try the kitchen counter, I think that might be a step too far.”

“It wasn't, but it's not like you to be such a defeatist.” He smirks and slips his middle finger inside her, feeling his own arousal twitch against her stomach in anticipation as she moans in response. “This old guy could totally handle the kitchen counter.”

“I don't doubt that. I was thinking more about...” She pauses as he crooks his finger, her breath catching when he finds the spot he was looking for and slides a second finger into her, keeping the pressure light, watching as a flush spreads across her cheeks. “Shit, whatever, keep doing that.”

“Planning on it.” He smiles and pushes deeper into her, feeling her wetness coating his fingers.

Her hand grips his shoulder more tightly and she moans again, long and low. His fingers keep a steady rhythm, sliding inside her, pulling back, and going deep again, and his thumb moves again to press against her. His free hand slides from her ass, roaming up her back, her skin warm and soft under his touch, her moans becoming more urgent as his fingers stroke around her ribcage and reach her nipple. He wonders briefly, as one thumb circles the swollen heat between her legs and the other runs across her hard, pink nipple, if he was always this dextrous or if she inspires it in him...he can't be certain, but he suspects it's the latter.

“Holy shit, Billy.” Her words are more of an loosely constructed sigh, and the feel of her fingers on his shoulder, the way she's pushing herself against him, the uneven shake in her breathing tells him she's close.

God, he wants to be inside her, but he wants to make her come first, he wants to slide into her and feel her trembling, hot and wet around him. Keeping his fingers moving, he changes direction with his thumb, and at the same time he dips his head and runs his tongue around her nipple. The angle isn't exactly a natural one, he feels like he's almost bent double, but it's worth it to hear the sound she makes, a sound that is beyond a moan but just short of a cry. He scrapes his teeth across her skin and keeps his thumb moving between her legs. When he pulls her nipple into his mouth and sucks hard, he feels her shudder against him, and her muscles start to contract around his fingers as she lets out a long, loud sigh.

Lifting his head from her breast, he's about to speak (although he has no idea what he's about to say other than some incomprehensible shit or other) but before he can, her lips are on his, her hands in his hair, her tongue pushing against his. He pulls his fingers out of her and she moans into his mouth as she pushes him back towards the couch, dragging her lips from his as she nudges him to sit down so she can straddle his thighs. The look in her eyes is one of determined hunger and fuck, it's as sexy as hell.

“We should buy an apartment every weekend if this is what happens,” he says, running his hands up and down her sides, the light stroke of his fingers making her squirm.

“Have you forgotten how many we looked at before we actually found the one we wanted to buy?” she asks, raising her hips and reaching down to slide him inside her in one smooth move.

“No, I...holy shit, honey, I...” He groans as she shifts, leaning back just a fraction and biting her lip as she looks at him, her eyes bright and looking so much bluer than they usually do that it catches him off-guard for a second. “I'll never forget how many places we looked at. It's tattooed on my psyche for the rest of time.”

“So dramatic.” She rolls her eyes and starts to move, slowly, so damn slowly that he feels every inch of himself pushing deeper into her as he groans louder in release. “God help you when we start looking at wedding invitations in the new year.”

“They're not just bits of card with, like, the date and stuff on?” He's pretty sure a little more thought than that goes into them but surely they really are just pieces of card, even if her incredulous expression suggests otherwise.

“Aw, you made a little joke,” she says, raising up out of his lap and sinking down on him again, her soft warmth taking him deep inside her.

Her hands move over his shoulders, her fingers tickling the back of his neck as her nails scratch lightly across his skin, making their way into his hair. His eyes are fixed on her face, on the curve of her lashes, the pink colouring her high cheekbones, her tongue running softly across her top lip. He still has the occasional moment of feeling total disbelief that she's actually marrying him, that he didn't leave it too late, that she forgave him for how he punished her...and as she smiles softly at him, he's feeling it now.

The soft smile widens and her nose wrinkles in the way he never fails to find cute and sexy all at once. He's slightly more confused when the smile becomes a giggle, one she briefly bites back when he shifts his hips to thrust up harder into her, only to return seconds later.

“What?” He narrows his eyes and she shakes her head, her only response a tightening of her thighs around his, pulling him even deeper. “You know, it doesn't exactly fill a guy with confidence when he's inside the women he loves and she starts laughing.”

“Shut up.” Leaning forward she kisses him, sliding her tongue across his bottom lip and running her thumb over his cheekbone before pulling back and grinning at him. “You have absolutely nothing to prove in that area, and you know it.”

“The confirmation doesn't hurt,” he says, with a shrug, brushing his thumb across her collarbone, groaning when she once again tightens her muscles around him, increasing her rhythm slightly, her eyes locked on his, a faint smile still on her lips.

Her hands move to rest on his face, her thumbs stroking tenderly across his cheeks, her soft breathing peppered with faint moans that send a renewed arousal through him as she grinds down and he slides harder and deeper into her. Without pulling his gaze from hers, he moves a hand to her nipple, rolling it gently between his finger and thumb, watching as her breath catches softly. She changes her position, leaning forward, pressing her face to his, her cheek as warm against his as her breath is in his ear.

“You can come now, Billy,” she murmurs, her lips brushing his earlobe and sending a shiver through him. “I know you're nearly there, I can feel it, I can hear it in your breathing. I like it.”

He nods and she pulls one hand from his face, finding his hand and tangling their fingers tightly together behind her back. Her pace picks up and she moans his name, the exertion sending a low rasp through her tone, and he knows she's right, he's close, and all she needs to keep doing is exactly what she's doing so perfectly right now. It takes two, maybe three more deep thrusts into her and then she's moaning louder, moaning his name, urging him on. When her hand squeezes his he lets go, his moans mixing with hers, her name falling messily from his lips into her ear as he releases himself into her.

“Mackenzie...” He has nothing coherent, he just loves her name, the sound of it, the feel of it on her tongue as he breathes it out. “ Mackenzie...”

“Mmm-hmm, that's me,” she says, pulling her face from his and tucking a piece of stray hair behind her ear as she lets out another giggle. “What?”

“You really do have the giggles tonight.” He smiles at her, shaking his head faintly and leaning in, placing a soft kiss on the end of her nose, the nose she's currently wrinkling as she laughs. “Is this pure delirium at the idea of a walk-in closet for all your damn shoes?”

“Maybe a little, yeah, but I'm just...” She shifts just slightly so he can slip out of her, and he sighs, filled suddenly with a completely nonsensical feeling of loss at no longer being inside her. “Happy. I'm just _happy_.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” he says, fixated on the genuine look of joy on her face, the flecks of golden brown dancing brightly within the blue of her eyes.

“You're happy too, right?” she asks, her smile dimming for a second, brightening again when he nods without a moment's pause.

“Happier than anyone would think serious old Will McAvoy could ever be.” He grins and runs his finger slowly down her nose. “And before you ask, yeah, it's all down to you.”

“Like I even needed to ask.” She shrugs but her smile gets wider and she slides her hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “I'm happy, you're happy, we have a new apartment. Please tell me this doesn't mean the world's about to end.”

“This doesn't mean the world is about to end.” He dips his head and kisses her shoulder, once, twice, pushing his tongue against his favourite freckle, feeling her hand grip the back of his head. “It might end if I don't eat pretty soon though.”

“How can you possibly be hungry when you literally just sat on the couch while I climbed on board and did all the work?” She laughs at his raised eyebrows and plants a quick kiss on his lips before she moves, carefully disentangling her limbs from his and standing up. Holding out her hand, she slides her fingers into his and waits for him to stand. “I'm kidding. Mostly. But yeah, let's put some clothes on and order pizza.”

“Pizza sounds good to me,” he says, squeezing her hand and smiling.

“Pizza always sounds good to you.” She bends down and scoops up her sweater, before pausing and dropping it again. “You know what, screw the clothes, let's shower, put PJs on, and get right back on that couch. I'm sure the pizza guy has seen scarier sights.”

“You're full of good ideas tonight, honey.” He lets her lead him towards the door, her fingers firmly in his, and he thinks he'd keep hold of her hand every minute of every day if it wasn't entirely impractical.

“I have one more.” She stops suddenly outside the bathroom, turning to him, her lips turned up in the sweet smile that gets her whatever she wants every time. He lifts his chin in question, saying nothing. “When we're decorating the new apartment, I vote we buy one of those gigantic couches, the ones that are so big they make normal human sized people look like Lilliputians.”

“Okay...” He nods because he doesn't really care what couch they buy, as long as it's comfortable and she likes it, he'll be fine with it.

“Oh Billy, you're missing the point, aren't you?” She sighs, a little dramatically, he thinks, but he shrugs and waits for her to continue. “I want a big couch so we can have sex on it as often as we like and your knees won't ache, and I won't worry about falling off and landing on the coffee table, and-”

“I got it. Honey, I got it.” He stops her, grinning and pulling her into the bathroom. “You could have stopped at 'I want a big couch so we can have sex on it' and I'd have been sold.”

“Predictably Pavlovian response,” she says with a smirk.

“Anna?” He returns the smirk and drags her into the shower, closing the door behind them and turning on the hot water.

“Yes, from what I've heard, Anna Pavlova was a huge fan of gigantic living room furniture.” She steps under the spray and prods him in the chest, grinning up at him. “Just...wash my hair so we can order that damn pizza. That was another Anna Pavlova quote right there.”

“You're fucking nuts.” He shakes his head and turns her around, pulling her back against him and running his hands through her hair.

“But you love me.” It's a statement, she knows there's no question, but she more than likely knows too that he'll answer it anyway.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching over her shoulder for the shampoo, kissing her cheek as he does. “I love you.”


End file.
